Face the Winter Naked

by Bonnie Turner

  "You don't have a family, do you?" Daniel brought his face down level with the boy's. "Don't try to change your story."

  "Yes, I mean no. I don't have any family."

  Daniel focused his owl eyes on Chris.

  "You working for somebody? Stealing money for them?"

  He scooped the rest of the coins out of Chris's pocket and dropped them in the purse. Holding tightly to Chris's arm, he picked up his belongings with his other hand. Every time he bent over his head throbbed like it was coming off.

  "C'mon, you little thief."

  Chris struggled as Daniel tightened his grip.

  "Ow! Where you taking me?"

  Daniel pulled him along the street. A man in a business suit came around the corner and glanced their way before continuing on.

  "Be quiet," Daniel said. "If you yell, I'll tell that man you stole my money."

  "I didn't steal nothing!"

  "Hmmm. First time I ever heard of a money purse jumping in a boy's pocket. Darn funny, if it really happened."

  "Let me go! Where we going?"

  "We're going to find us a woodshed, Master Christopher. I'm going to teach you not to lie. Going to teach you not to hit people on their poor heads when they're trying to sleep. Teach you not to steal no more." Daniel snorted. "Fine way for a boy to start out his life. If you needed money, why didn't you ask someone for it? You don't have to steal."

  "Asking is begging, and I don't beg."

  "Which is worse, Chris, stealing or begging? Stealing might get you in jail, but begging could bring you a sandwich."

  "I'll be good. Please don't hit me, Daniel, I won't do it anymore. Please—you—"

  Daniel pulled him into the shadows of a building. Not a soul in sight; the man they'd seen had passed on down the street and turned a corner. He set his supplies on the ground and looked around for a piece of board for a paddle. Finding none, he sat on an empty keg and pulled the struggling boy over his knees.

  Chris was strong. He kicked and flailed, trying to connect with Daniel's face.

  "Don't!"

  "Be quiet," Daniel warned, "before I turn you over to the sheriff."

  Chris cried and squirmed, but Daniel held firmly with one hand, yanked his dusty pants down a little and smacked his butt hard with the other.

  "Ow!"

  "Going to steal again are ya?" Whack.

  "No!"

  Daniel smacked the bare butt again, this time a little harder.

  "Let me go—you ain't my old man."

  "Good thing I ain't." He aimed at Chris's butt again. "He'd prob'ly kill you for stealing."

  He gave the boy a good shellacking, then pulled his pants back up and turned him loose.

  "Now you just sit there on the ground and think about what you did. I ain't mad no more, Chris. I was easy on your butt, believe it or not. If I'd had me a board, I might have busted all your butt bones." Chris sniffed and sobbed, and Daniel went on. "Now, young sir, next time you see an opportunity to swipe a man's hard-earned money, you just walk on by."

  They sat together for a long time, and Daniel was surprised the boy didn't run away. He played the banjo with the strings missing. Chris dried his face with the back of his hand, smearing tears and snot from ear to ear and leaving a slimy trail in the dirt. He was more embarrassed than hurt. Finally, he rose to leave.

  "If y'all don't have a home," Daniel said, also rising, "then come along with me. There might be a few cents left in this here purse to buy us a sandwich apiece." Chris's face lit up at the mention of food. "I mean if you don't mind seeing the man you tried to blame on stealing from me."

  "Don't tell him."

  "Naw, I ain't going to tell him," Daniel said. "You had your punishment. You hungry?" Obviously a dumb question. "Come along then, we'll go somewhere else. It's the least I can do after getting my money back and taking my meanness out on a little kid." He handed the banjo to Chris. "Here, make yourself useful."

  A few minutes later, the two sat inside a small café eating bean soup. In addition, Daniel splurged and bought Chris a glass of milk.

  Chapter 16

  LaDaisy yanked the calendar off the wall and threw it at him.

  "Whoa!" Clay ducked, then reached down and picked it up. "Watch where you're throwing things, you might hurt someone."

  "If I could hurt you, I would!"

  He flipped through the calendar. "What am I supposed to do with this? I know what day it is. Don't need a calendar to tell me."

  She took a deep breath and moved between the table and the cabinet.

  "Look at the date. Then go back a couple weeks to an X on the page. That should tell you what's wrong."

  "So? It's still August."

  "Think, dammit, Clay."

  "What's the X for?"

  "Are you stupid or what? Ida Mae marks X's on her calendar."

  "Yeah, she does. But—"

  "You don't know much about women, do you?"

  "I know all I need to know."

  "All you know is they have a private place between their legs. You know how to rip their underpants off, but not enough to keep them from getting pregnant."

  Clay studied the calendar again.

  "Are you telling me you didn't keep your date with the red X?"

  "I'm more than two weeks late."

  He tossed the calendar on the table.

  "You miscounted."

  "I'd never miscount something as important as that. I'm late, and you—stupid as you are—should know what that means."

  "So?"

  "So you did this to me and I don't want it."

  "Now you wait a goddamn minute!"

  "No, you wait a minute. If I had a kid of yours, I'd drown it like a litter of pups with rabies."

  "You're talking stupid."

  "Try me."

  She took the big mixing crock off the counter and turned it upside down on the table. Grabbing the butcher knife from the drawer, she drew the blade across the rough bottom edge of the crock.

  He leaned in the doorway watching, his customary smirk gone. With each swipe of the blade across the stone, he shifted nervously.

  "If you got yourself knocked up, it's your problem, not mine."

  LaDaisy's eyes blazed as she came from behind the table, the sharpened knife in her hand. He straightened up and stepped back.

  "What a damn coward you turned out to be." She brandished the blade in the air and moved toward him, thankful the kids were at Bernie's. "You're afraid of this. The mighty Clay Huff is dandelion fluff."

  "Put the fucking knife down!"

  She burst out laughing. "You think I'm going to cut you? Funny." She jabbed the blade at him. "It'd be so easy to slide this in your fat, ugly belly and not feel any regret after what you did to me and my sister. To all other women who've ever been raped. You're part of that disease, Clay."

  His face paled. Sweat broke on his forehead. He searched for a way out but seemed unsure what to do.

  "Leave Ida Mae out of this."

  "Why? Maybe she'd want to know what a louse she married. I'd be doing her a favor."

  He was afraid. Afraid of a woman. One specific woman with a knife.

  "She's about to have the kid," he said. "You want her to lose it?"

  "You know I don't."

  He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Okay, what do you want from me? Just don't tell Ida."

  "Or the sheriff? I could turn you in."

  "You wouldn't."

  "Dare me. Or maybe I'll tell Reverend Pitney. You couldn't show your filthy face in church anymore."

  "I—I'll get something. What'll it take to fix your—situation? Tell me, I'll get it."

  She stopped smiling and laid the knife on the table within reach.

  "It's not easy to get rid of ... unborn babies." She couldn't believe she actually said it aloud. Now the whole universe could fall in on her.

  "I thought women knew how."

  "There are some who try ... and some die of blood
poisoning from poking themselves with knitting needles or other sharp, dirty things. That's—that's what happens when animals like you can't keep their pants on."

  He sucked in his breath, puffed his cheeks, and let the air explode from his mouth.

  "Damn, what a bitch!"

  "Abortion's a nasty business. You should've thought about it before you raped me. I told you, my body belongs to someone else."

  "Daniel ain't here, is he? If he liked your body so damn much, he would've stuck around to claim it. Don't give me that bullshit. You wanted it as much as I did."

  He spoke tough, but his customary smirk was gone.

  "What I wanted was to take this knife—" She snatched it up again and swung it at him. "—and slice the dirty old thing off. Throw it in the road for the crows." She burst into tears.

  "No knitting needles. But are you sure?"

  She glanced at the calendar through her tears. No, she wasn't sure. She'd been late before, but she couldn't take any chances. There were Daniel's children to consider.

  "I'm sure."

  Clay spread his hands before him. "What do you need? Would the doctor do it?"

  "No."

  "Then what?"

  She sat down at the table, still holding the knife.

  "Quinine."

  "Where will I get it?"

  "Steal it." She cried harder. "You go now, Clay, and don't come back without the quinine. You do it fast if you don't want people to know." She stopped to wipe tears. "Because—because, for sure I'm going to shout all over this town what you did to me."

  "Okay." He started to leave. "I'll see what I can do. You sure it works?"

  "I don't know. I've heard it can cause miscarriages. I'm not sure, but I'll try anything." And pray it doesn't kill me in the process. "I'm still nursing Mary. If it hurts my little girl, I'll see you hang!"

  Clay returned an hour later and handed LaDaisy a small bottle of liquid.

  "This shit better work, I went to a lot of trouble. How long does it take?"

  She stood in the open bedroom doorway, and behind her Daniel's shotgun leaned against the bed. Clay saw it and backed away. If she'd thought to bring out the gun weeks ago, there'd be no need for quinine.

  "I have no idea how long it takes, or if it works."

  She studied the label. There were no directions, just the name and amount. She imagined Clay snooping in the doctor's medical bag while he examined Ida. Pictured the coward slipping the bottle in his pocket. Saw Dr. Wilson zip the bag without realizing the quinine was missing. It would've served Clay right had he been caught.

  He left her standing there clutching the bottle as he went to let himself out.

  She called after him. "Don't come back till rent time, and don't get any ideas about collecting like you did before. I'll have the money." How? Washing and ironing for some rich old lady? Cooking or cleaning her house? She didn't know. But somehow she'd have the rent.

  "All right, shut the hell up, I'm leaving."

  LaDaisy walked into the front room. "If you do try anything, mark my words, I'll blow your goddam brains out." She gripped the bottle tightly, waiting for him to go.

  The coward ran to his car with his tail between his legs and wasted no time burning rubber down the drive.

  She locked the door and waited a few minutes to be sure he wasn't coming back, then replaced the gun in the closet and went to the kitchen. She dipped out a glass of water and set it on the table next to the unopened bottle. Then she checked Saul's garden through the back screen to make sure he hadn't come yet. Mary was quiet; the others still gone. She was alone. Alone to undo whatever damage her loathsome brother-in-law had created. She sat down, closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.

  Forgive me.

  She twisted the cap off the bottle. How much is enough? How much is too much?

  She thought of poison. She knew the drug was prescribed for fevers and malaria. But most women also knew it could cause birth defects and early labor.

  She choked back a sob. Lord, help me. I don't want to do this, but Ida Mae would know it was his. Tears ran freely down her face. How much?

  She held the bottle to the light. Two ounces of clear, grainy liquid. Was it enough?

  She emptied half the bottle into a glass of water and stirred it with a spoon. Damn, it won't dissolve. Before she could change her mind, she drank the tonic straight down, almost gagging. Her head swam and her eyes blurred. Clay could've given her cyanide and she wouldn't have known. Her stomach resisted the liquid. Her eyes watered as she swallowed it again when it tried to come up.

  When her stomach settled somewhat, she hid the rest of the drug in Daniel's closet and lay on the bed with her eyes closed. For better or worse, the deed was done. She'd taken poison to kill new growth in her womb.

  Three hours later LaDaisy became violently ill. She struggled to nurse Mary through bouts of vomiting and stomach cramps. Mary screamed in frustration, beating her mother's bare chest with her fists.

  "Mama's sorry. Shhh."

  She tried not to puke again, but managed to get Mary back in the cradle just before she threw up all down the front of herself. Mary wailed. She tried to comfort her with ears ringing and head swimming. She retched until nothing remained but dry heaves.

  "Baby, baby, it's—it's okay. Wait. Wait."

  She staggered to the kitchen and poured a tea kettle of warm water in the wash pan, then pulled off her smelly dress and dropped it by the back steps. Hearing Mary's frantic cry, she hurried to clean herself. The ringing in her head grew louder. Dizzy and confused, she stumbled back to the bedroom, slipped a clean smock over her head with shaking hands, and tried to console her child.

  With her stomach on fire and more nausea rising in her throat, she lay on the bed with her daughter in the crook of her arm, sobbing while Mary nursed.

  What have I done?

  Chapter 17

  Later that morning, Homer Petrie climbed down from his truck and entered the auction barn.

  "I worked for that man," Daniel told Chris, "diggin' spuds and pickin' apples. The real reason I was so mad for you stealing my money is because he kept half my wages."

  He stopped talking and looked down at the boy.

  "I took my dander out on you—not that you're innocent, mind you. But if I'd thought it out, I wouldn't have done it. I'm sorry."

  Christopher shrugged. "Served me right."

  Daniel nodded toward Homer. "Here he comes to this here auction to sell the hog I rode in the back of his truck with. He shoulda rode back there hisself and let the hog drive."

  "Let's go watch," Chris said. "Maybe you can get your money back, like I d—" He stopped and looked at the ground, shuffled his bare feet in the dirt.

  "Didn't learn nothing yet, did you?"

  "I was hungry."

  Daniel slipped an arm around Chris's shoulder. "Lots of folks in the same boat these days. The boat has a big hole in it, and it's sinking. Know what I mean?"

  "Yep."

  "I've been hungry myself."

  I stole corn from a field, milk from a cow, and a fresh warm egg from under a hen. But some things are better left unsaid.

  The auctioneer's voice carried outside the building.

  "Wow, he's fast," Chris said. "I can't understand him."

  "I can't either. Come on, let's go. I don't have any desire to see Mr. Petrie when he comes out patting his fat pockets. I wouldn't trust myself not to start something."

  "Where we going?"

  "I don't know where you're going, but I'm heading north on the first freight I see."

  "I'll come with you."

  "No, you can't," Daniel replied. "It's no life for a kid."

  "Neither is this one."

  "You need to go home to your family." Daniel studied the boy. "They probably won't recognize you, filthy as you are."

  "Told you I don't have any family."

  "Everybody's got a family. Where do they live? C'mon, I'll walk you over there."

  C
hris's large brown eyes bubbled. "They—they live a few miles that way." Pointing west. "But I'm not going back. They don't want me." He blinked, and tears glistened on his lashes.

  "They tell you that?"

  "My ol' man, he said leave and don't come back. He said they can't afford me anymore. They don't have any money or nothing to eat."

  Daniel swore under his breath. He'd heard of people kicking their kids out to shift for themselves.

  He started walking and Chris ran to catch up.

  "I won't be any trouble. Please, Daniel, take me with you."

  "Just what I need, a road kid tagging along." Daniel looked his young companion in the eye. "You ever hop a freight?"

  "No. But I slept in a boxcar lots of times when the train was sitting on the tracks. Just let me go, I'll keep out of the way, I promise." He indicated the banjo and gunnysack. "I'll carry your stuff."

  "You willing to eat collard greens and dandelions?"

  "Already did. Raw ones."

  Daniel smiled. "Bitter as heck."

  "Yep, and gave me the runs." After a minute, Chris said, "Betcha I climb trees better than you. I'll go up and get nuts and apples and pears for us."

  "And prob'ly fall and bust your head open."

  "Then can I go?"

  "I should say you can't, but I ain't got the heart. If you got no place else to go, what else can I do?" They stopped walking again, and Daniel looked the boy over carefully.

  "What's the matter?" Chris asked. "Why you looking at me like that?"

  "I'm thinking you need a good bath, a haircut, and shoes."

  "Don't have money for shoes. Don't have money for nothing, let alone shoes."

  "Shoes are nice when you have to do lots of walking," Daniel said. "I walk most every place I can. Sometimes I hitch me a ride on a train. But you don't find dandelions or berries or eggs on a train, so I have to get off sometimes and walk."

  "I seen tramps jump off trains."

  "Did you also see the railroad bulls chasing 'em with their clubs?"

  "Nope."

  "Well, it's a bigger danger than jumping out of a moving boxcar."

  Before nightfall, the pair walked a little way out of town and found a cattle trough that didn't look too dirty with cow slobbers.